


Little Devils II

by Markings24



Series: Little Devils [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Guilt, Mental Health Issues, Rehabilitation, Reunions, Revenge, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2020-05-16 03:30:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19309732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markings24/pseuds/Markings24
Summary: Sherlock and Olivia's (bumpy) road to recovery. A sequel to Little Devils.





	1. An unexpected visitor

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader,  
> If you got here all the way from the beginning, THANK YOU for reading!  
> If you haven't read Little Devils first, please do :)
> 
> This part of the story will take Sherlock and Olivia uphill towards happiness, but not without some bumps and detours along the road. I have a vague chronologic order for the story in my head, but I always welcome your comments and suggestions! Additional tags will be added along the way.
> 
> Chapters will come, as usual, irregularly. But they will come.

“Bye love. Have a nice day.”

“Bye. You too. Love you.”

“Bye Hamish, take good care of daddy now.”

“Bye John. See you later.”

“Bye love. Good luck today.”

“Thanks. Bye Hame.”

“Baaa!”

 

As the door closed behind the two women, John sighed contently. The house was suddenly empty, and heavenly quiet, until Hamish grabbed his earlobe and pulled enthusiastically.

“Ouch! Yes Hamish, let’s get you cleaned up, and then you can play, but not with my ears.”

Ignoring the explosion of dirty dishes, burnt toast, cereal and yoghurt in the kitchen, John went upstairs to give Hamish his bath. It was Tuesday, one of his two days alone with the boy, and it was off to a normal start. First there had been breakfast, with people storming in and out of the kitchen, looking for shoes or lost notebooks, and grabbing bites from his plate. Hamish had smeared most of his breakfast out on the table and in his hair, while John prepared lunchboxes. Once everyone had wished everyone goodbye and kisses had been exchanged, John was left with a mess, but he didn’t mind. He bathed Hamish and dressed him in his tiny jeans and a T-shirt.  He set the 1 year old down in his playpen where he would happily talk to his stuffed animals for a while so John could clean up the kitchen and read the newspaper without having to worry about drawers being pulled out on top of anyone’s head or cleaning product being swallowed. His son was 16 months now and difficult to keep from wandering off and explore potentially dangerous situations.  

John liked to tell himself that it was not an inherited lust for danger, but mere naivety that regularly brought Hamish into near heart attack situations. He’d be more careful with age, he told himself. Ignoring the fact that he’d learned the hard way himself.

Everything had fallen apart the night Sherlock disappeared, but now, over a year later, John was still alive and doing relatively OK. He tried not to think -or drink- too much and focus on his family. The steady rhythm of the children, the love he received, and the need to fix things were what kept him going forward and away from the darker parts of his mind. The boring part-time work at the practice was an anchor.

Around ten thirty a.m. it was time for Hamish’ snack, so he picked up his little man and set him on his hip. He had just cut up some fruit and put it in a bowl when the doorbell disturbed them.

Thinking that at this hour it could only be some sort of salesperson or Jehovah’s witnesses, John went to open the door with a frown. A frown that was joined by a gaping mouth when he recognised the person on the sidewalk was definitely neither of those.

“Sherlock?”

“Good morning, John.”

Sherlock was wearing his normal superior frown. The frown John had desperately missed for over a year. He looked different though. Instead of an impeccable tailored suit he was wearing jeans and a hoodie, and there was a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. Most shocking was the beard, a few weeks to a month old, adorning his pale face. He also looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. Hamish didn’t care much for the visitor and tried to grab John’s ear again. Sherlock’s eyes flicked to Hamish for a moment, but returned to stare at John.

“Sherlock.”

“You’re repeating yourself.” Then he added more hesitantly “Can I come in?”

“O- of course”, John stammered.

His heart was hammering in his throat as he stepped aside to open the door further. Sherlock walked in and it was hardly believable that he was there, warm and alive. At the same time John couldn’t help but notice the change. Sherlock’s shoulders hung, his eyes weren’t bright like they used to be, and his movements were far from elegant as he put his bag down. He moved as if all his muscles hurt him and even though he stuffed his hands into his pockets John noticed the tremors.

“I would have waited before coming here, I just…” he started, clearly embarrassed about the state he was in.

“Wait”, said John. He walked back to Hamish’ playpen, gently set him down, and walked back to a frowning Sherlock, who looked like he was anticipating to be thrown out. Instead, John wrapped his long lost friend in a tight hug, which lasted for a full minute.

Eventually he let go and Sherlock carefully sat down on the sofa and had a few sips of hot tea with lots of sugar, slowly getting used to the situation.

Olivia was the first person he asked about, to John’s pleasant surprise.

 “She’s doing a bit better these days. She went through a very difficult period of course. It wasn’t easy. It still isn’t.”

“You see her a lot?” Sherlock asked after another sip.

John looked at him with surprise.

“Well yes. She lives with us.”

It was a bit sad how Sherlock’s eyes instantly darted through the room, looking for all the clues he’d missed.

“I sort of assumed you’d be watching. Somehow.” John didn’t want to let on how many people, including John sometimes, had thought Sherlock was dead.

“I haven’t.” Sherlock swallowed.  “You took her in.”

“We did. We couldn’t leave her with strangers that night. She needed somewhere safe. After that she just… became part of the family.”

Sherlock looked pensive for a while, and then decidedly announced he needed a bed.

 

~

 

Olivia’s school day was like any other. Freddy Reeves called her a slut -which was obviously based on nothing- and proceeded to laugh at her when she almost walked into the door of their history classroom. Art class was nice as usual and French as grueling as usual. The start of her second year at this posh place felt slightly less daunting than the first, but it was still a relief when the final bell rang.

She took the tube to Rose’s, which she often did after school because Mary wouldn’t be finished working for another two hours and would pick her up afterwards.

Rose had a tutor at home, which she detested because it kept her quite isolated. However she acknowledged that it helped her focus on her revalidation. It also helped that the tutor was hot. Rose couldn’t stop talking about her as Olivia pushed her wheelchair through the park. It was the end of August and still very warm outside.

“I think she likes me.”

“Well, she must do, otherwise she wouldn’t keep coming back every day”, Olivia quipped.

“A minor detail being that she gets paid handsomely for it”, Rose sighed. Olivia suspected that Mycroft Holmes was paying for Rose’s care, just like he paid for her expensive school fees, but she thought it was rude to ask.

They got to a bench by the pond, so Olivia parked the wheelchair next to it and sat down to watch the birds on the water.

“How about you? Any cute posh boys in class this year?” Rose asked tentatively.

Olivia smiled, but said “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of thing.” Rose just nodded, not knowing that it was a big understatement. Up to now, John was the only man who could touch her without eliciting a cringe.

They sat in silence for a moment, their eyes following the ducks in the pond diving for food.

Rose broke the silence. “I must say our lives have become quite boring these days. We could be old ladies, sitting in the park, talking about the good old days. 

Olivia laughed. “That doesn’t sound like us.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon pushing the wheelchair, with Rose in it, off of grass slopes and monument stairs, Olivia running next to her, to the disapproval of onlooking elderly ladies.

Once it was time to head back for Olivia to be picked up by Mary, one of Rose’s wheels was squeaking suspiciously and it took a bit more strength to push the chair forward, but they couldn’t care less.

 

~

 

“Evening ladies.”

“Hello love, how was your day?” Mary asked, while Olivia hung up her coat.

“Fine… I guess… uhm… I need to speak to you both… about something.”

Having sat them both down on the sofa, with him in the armchair and Hamish in his lap, John took a deep breath. He’d been thinking all day about how he was going to bring this news.

“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked.

“Nothing. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. I just need you to take a deep breath.”

Olivia did, as she had so often done for John over the past fifteen months.

“Sherlock’s alive.”

Mary gasped and immediately grasped Olivia’s hand, who kept her eyes trained on John.

“How alive… I mean… Is he hurt? Is…” Olivia stammered.

“It seems like he’s OK. But he’s quite… tired. Basically fell asleep once he got here.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “He was here??”

“He still is. I let him have your bed. I mean, well… he sort of took your bed. I think we should let him sleep for now.” That last part was added hurriedly as Olivia jumped up and made her way upstairs as quick as she could, leaving John and Mary behind in the living room.

“How is he, really?” Mary asked.

“Pretty ill. I think he held out as long as he could until the worst was over, but I know withdrawal symptoms when I see them.”

“Do you think it’s safe, with the kids in the house?”

“He’s harmless. And I already went through his stuff. He just needs a safe place.”

 

~

 

A rush of adrenaline running through her veins, Olivia quietly opened her bedroom door. John and Mary had converted their guest bedroom into her bedroom a year ago, with the assurance that they wanted her to stay. Now there were posters on the walls, as well as framed pictures of her friends and her parents. Her guitar was in the corner and they’d given her a record player for her sixteenth birthday. It was a safe space like she hadn’t had since John took her key to room 221 away.

There was a faint smell of soap in the room. In the semi-dark, she could see a bump of someone under her duvet. A dark mop of curls decorated her pillow. She couldn’t see his face and she wanted to be sure, so she planted one knee on her bed and bent over him to look. He was skinny, pale, and he had a beard, but it was undoubtedly him. He was deeply asleep.

Crawling back and stepping off the bed, she let the situation sink in. Mr. Holmes was alive, he was here, he was sleeping in her bed. It was surreal. She had the urge to touch him, to feel that he was real, but she didn’t dare to. Instead she watched the duvet move up and down with his breathing.

 

 ~

 

“It’s him,” Olivia said, as if confirmation was needed, when she came back into the living room.

“Still asleep?” John asked, and she nodded.

“Then it’s best you kip on the sofa tonight love. If you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine.”

John smiled as he stood up to go and see about dinner and caressed her head in passing.

“He’ll be fine.”

She nodded with a tight-lipped smile back while the adrenaline had still to fade from her body.


	2. An invitation over tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> Here is a tiny chapter and an update on the story format. After submitting to reality I've decided no longer to post chapters in chronological order, because that's not how I write. This means I will hopefully be able to post more often, at the risk that I will eventually leave out periods for which I have no inspiration.  
> I will from now on add Olivia's age at the start of each chapter to give you an idea of where things are.
> 
> Thanks to all those still following! Please know that I appreciate it. x

nearly 17

 

“Hi Sherlock.”

 

“Hi.”

 

Even though he managed to sound aloof, Sherlock immediately stood up as she greeted him. Mary remembered the countless times she had stepped into this apartment to be greeted by an indistinct murmur while Sherlock continued whatever he was doing, whether it was an experiment or simply sulking on the sofa. And he never ever got up to make tea, as he appeared to be doing now.

 

“Oh am I getting tea? I feel so special.”

 

“I was just about to make some for myself anyway,” he answered from the kitchen.

 

While he was busy with the kettle Mary took a moment to scan the apartment. The living room was relatively tidy besides some newspapers and scientific journals strewn around. The kitchen was dominated by several experiments, so it seemed. If one could determine Sherlock’s mental condition by the state of his living quarters, then it looked pretty stable. Good.

 

“Have you been up to any case solving lately?” she asked as he came back with a tray (no trembling anymore. Good).

 

“I’ve had a few clients, but it’s been slow. I think many people aren’t aware yet that I’m back.”

 

“Right. So one high-profile murder is all you need to get business booming again I guess.”

 

They sat in the big chairs facing each other.

 

“How’ve you been? I mean besides work.”

 

“I assume you are referring to my rehabilitation.”

 

She smiled at his directness and waited for him to start.

 

Sherlock had only stayed a few days with them after he’d stumbled back into their lives two months ago. He’d spent most of that time in bed, or in the kitchen once he got his appetite back and had been very subdued. Even the fussing from John and herself he’d accepted to an extent (thankfully the temperature and trembling had steadily decreased). In the end he’d probably felt too uncomfortable keeping Olivia’s bed and feeling the heavy cloud of questions in the air which he would be expected to answer at some point, he’d left in a moment when all of them were out of the house. Since then, they’d been checking up on him regularly.

 

Sherlock cleared his throat.

 

“Fairly well. As long as I keep busy there’s no reason for me to relapse. You’ve probably judged from the state of my kitchen that I do manage to keep myself entertained. Molly has gracefully assisted my recovery by providing me with a steady supply of organs.”

 

“That’s nice of her”, Mary said, although she knew Sherlock’s manipulative tactics.

 

He sensed her slight disapproval.

 

“Why are you here? Normally John deems it his task to check on me.”

 

John is working today. And I wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Where is Hamish?”

 

“At home with Olivia. Listen, Sherlock, its Olivia’s birthday tomorrow. She’s turning seventeen and I was hoping you’d come. It’s just a small party. Nothing crazy.”

 

“Did she ask you to invite me?” was the surprisingly doubtful response.

 

“No. I’m inviting you.”

 

Although Mary knew for certain Olivia wanted him to come. When he occupied her bedroom she’d checked on him approximately once an hour, even at night, to check that he was indeed still alive. Once Mary had found her in the morning asleep curled up on top of the covers beside him. Up until now Mary had not let her come to Sherlock’s flat because it wasn’t completely predictable what they’d find there.

 

“How do you know she would want me there?”

 

“Why wouldn’t she? Look, you’ve been there for her during some of the worst moments of her life. She trusts you and she likes you.”

 

“I’m the reason for most of the misery in her life.”

 

“Don’t be dramatic. You’re not that important.”

 

He thought a while and his thoughts seemed to drift away, like they had many times during the time they’d spent together since he’d returned.

 

“We’d also like you to be there when we give Olivia our gift.”

 

“Why’d that ma-” His eyes narrowed and Mary was pleased to see his sharpness was returning.

 

“You’re going to adopt her” he said, somewhat triumphantly.

 

 

 


	3. Misbehaviour

17

 

“John. Why are you calling? I’m busy.”

“Oh are you on a case?”

“I’m cultivating mould samples from different buildings in order to find out _exactly_ where Mr. Henderson was held-”

“Great, so you’re not busy. I need you to let the mould cultivate itself and do me a favour in the meantime.”

“I was planning a clean up of my mind palace.”

“It’ll have to wait. The surgery is overflowing with patients due to this bloody flu epidemic and Mary and I are completely overwhelmed. And now school has called and I just… I can’t deal with that right now.”

“Did something happen with Hamish?”

“No! No, Hamish is in day care. It’s Olivia. She’s gotten herself in trouble. Again. And I’m afraid they’ll expel her. You’re usually good at dealing with this kind of thing. Can you go pick her up? Please?”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment.

 

“Fine.”

“Thanks so much. I owe you. I’ll let the head know you’re coming.”

Leaving his precious mould cultures behind, Sherlock set off to school. It was even more posh than the one he went to as a teenager. It was located in an old Victorian building with polished wooden staircases and conservatively dressed teachers. He was politely directed to the head’s office, an elderly lady with a stern gaze behind her glasses.

“Mr. Holmes? Mr. Watson informed me you were… filling in, and to discuss Olivia’s situation with you. Now, as I’ve told Mr. Watson many times, we are not used to boisterous behaviour at our school. Olivia comes from a… special background and therefore we have been allowing some leniency towards her. However, what happened inside the walls of this school today simply cannot be tolerated.”

Sherlock’s agitation was already stirred by her use of the words “special background”.

“What did she do?”

“First of all, Mr. Holmes, Olivia managed to tackle a boy, one of our highest achieving students, to the ground and threaten him. The boy was absolutely terrified and will be receiving counselling. She’s lucky he didn’t ask us to call the police.”

“Alright. Why did she do it?”

“What do you mean why did she do it? She did something unforgivable! Nothing could excuse her behaviour in any way.”

“So you didn’t ask her for a motive. Right. Go on, what’s else?”

“Later today, together with some of her friends, who are normally respectable students, Olivia was caught in the _boy’s_ washrooms, _smoking prohibited substances._ Two of the pupils were even seen _kissing_. And I have to tell you this; before Olivia Edwards set a foot-”

“Watson.”

“Before Olivia Watson set a foot in this school such things were considered unthinkable by both pupils and staff. She is a bad influence and I will not tolerate it any longer!”

“So you claim that Olivia has been involved in a number of incidents, but it seems like you have made no effort whatsoever to speak to her.”

“I will not discuss this with her while she is in the state she is currently.”

“What state?”

“ _High off her mind_.”

The head preceded Sherlock to the detention room, where Olivia, as well as two of her friends, were waiting. They stopped giggling as Sherlock stepped in and Olivia’s red eyes grew bigger.

“What are _you_ doing here?!”

“Saving your arse. Go and get your coat.”

Sherlock immediately noticed what the headmistress had been talking about. Olivia’s movements were rather uncoordinated and sluggish and she didn’t stop smiling as they left the building and got into a cab.

“Are you taking me home?”

“No. I’m taking you to Baker Street. I’m not leaving you unsupervised while John and Mary are still at work.”

“I’m seventeen.”

He didn’t reply and he spent the cab ride to Baker Street silently staring out the window. At Baker street Mrs. Hudson heard them come home and immediately offered to bake something sweet and delicious for Olivia, but Sherlock intervened.

“No cake Mrs. Hudson, Olivia is not here for fun.”

Rolling her eyes, Olivia trudged up the stairs.

 

Later, after she had been offered tea if she made it herself, they were sitting at the kitchen table.

“So, I hear your self-defence lessons have been useful.”

“He’s a bully.”

“What did he do?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.”

Olivia rolled her eyes once again and sighed. “He said he would get me to blow him in the changing rooms because apparently I got expelled from my previous school for being promiscuous. It’s a stupid rumour he’s been telling people since the beginning of the year after I rejected a date. I got sick of him saying those things about me. Pity for him his weed fell out of his pocket when he hit the ground.”

“So you decided to turn the men’s room into a hotbox.”

“It was fun.”

“I bet it was.”

“Aren’t you going to lecture me or something?”

“No. I only came to pick you up because John called me in a panic. All I need to do is make sure you don’t get into further trouble until he or Mary picks you up. So don’t make any attempts to flee or I’ll have to cuff you to the radiator.”

So Olivia sat at the kitchen table, coming down from her high, her elbow on the table and her cheek resting in her palm, watching Sherlock experiment on his mould. She hardly noticed herself drift off.

 

His warm hand on her shoulder startled her awake.

“Feeling better?”

The mould cultures had been cleared away and replaced by the most beautiful scones. Apparently Mrs. Hudson had ignored his instructions. A new mug of tea was placed in front of her, breathing hot steam into the slightly stale air.

“Uhm, yeah. Thanks.”

“John’s on his way here. Mycroft managed to convince the school not to expel you, but John is quite angry none the less.”

He’d been making phone calls? Olivia rubbed her eyes.

“Oh.”

He sat down next to her at the table, took a deep breath and gave her a serious look.

“I know… that it might not be my place to tell you this, but it’s important.” His focused gaze made the hairs on her neck stand up.

“You need to promise that you will never take anything stronger than the herbal stuff you’re smoking. It’ll ruin you.”

“Who says I haven’t already?”

“Obviously I would know if you had.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“That’s exactly the problem. When you’re not afraid you make stupid decisions. I’ve done it many times myself. And that’s fine as long as there is nobody who cares. Don’t tell me you think nobody cares about you.”

“I know, but-”

“Promise.”

“Do you care?” she whispered.

That caught him off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Do you care? About me.”

“I don’t think I should have to spell that out for you.”

She nodded while looking at her tea.

“Could you please not tell John about the bathroom?”

“I’ll have to.”

“Please.”

Before he could say anything else Olivia leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. It was a desperate kiss. His lips were softer than she remembered, even though they were pressed tightly together. Sherlock froze for half a second, but then he pushed her away. He looked distressed and his whole body was tense like the string of a violin that was about to break.

“I-” she started, but was abruptly cut off.

“Get out.”

His sharp words were like a slap in the face. For a moment she looked at him to verify if he had really said that, but his face full of anger, and she could even detect some hurt in the lines by his eyes. A horrible feeling of dread quickly spreading through her insides, Olivia stood up and exited the room as quick as she could, away from him and the utter humiliation of what she had just done. Downstairs John was saying hello to Mrs. Hudson. How had she not heard the front door? She tried to appear as normal as possible even though she felt like being sick. How had she been that stupid? He hadn’t given off any signal that he might want her to do what she just did, and he obviously hadn’t enjoyed it.

 

John didn’t yell, he was just “very very disappointed”, which was even worse. He told her to stay with Mrs. Hudson as he went up to talk to Sherlock, which lasted for an insanely long ten minutes. He was silent as they drove home, his jaw tight. At home he sat her on a kitchen chair and started a lecture about how it was important to report bullying to the teachers instead of taking matters into your own hands, to respect the authority of the school, how it was incredibly rude to reject a chance at top notch education that Mycroft paid for, and how she was influencing other kids who would normally never even consider using drugs.

“How do you know they wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t for me?”

“Oh stop it. Gene and Camilla are about the most boring kids I know.”

“So what now? I didn’t get expelled.”

“Yes and you can thank Mycroft for that in a letter.”

She nodded.

“However, Mary and I do not think that going back to that school will be the best thing for you right now.”

“We’re worried, not just about your behaviour at school but your mental health. It’s been a year and a half and you still haven’t breathed a word about everything that happened. You jump whenever someone comes near you. You have nightmares.”

“How do you-”

“You scream, Olivia. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you plead, and sometimes you scream.” Olivia had no idea how many times John had slammed a door harder than necessary to get Olivia out of a nightmare without making a fuss about it.

“The longer you wait, the harder it will be to… to mend anything.”

“I… I’m fine. I don’t need to be mended. I can be quiet.”

“No Olivia this isn’t... I don’t want you to be quiet. I want you to talk to a professional because I don’t know how to help you. The institute could be good for you. I was thinking it would be something to try next summer, but maybe it’s better to enrol you sooner…”

“No. Please, John. “

“I just don’t think we should postpone it any longer. You obviously need help and Mary and I don’t know how.”

“I don’t want to leave. Please don’t make me leave.”

“I’m not making you leave. You are part of this family and we would never want to change that. It would be a three-month programme. You’d come home on the weekends, like we discussed.”

“I can’t do that. You can’t make me do that.”

“I can. And I’m sorry but if you don’t go voluntarily, I’ll make you.”

“Christ John! You won’t make me. You can’t do this to me. It’s cruel!”

“Don’t think I like it.”

“No. You can’t do this because you’re not my father!!! You’re not and you never will be!” Olivia screamed.

John stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath. Her words had clearly hurt him.

“I know. And I’m glad you think I’m not like him.”

Her face crumpling, Olivia raised her hands to cover her face. John stood up and came closer, slowly raising his arms to embrace her. She didn’t let him, pushing him away. John knew better than to continue trying. He dropped his hands and just stood, a painful two feet away from her.

“I know. It is cruel. But we’ve let you ignore your trauma for too long already and it’s not healthy.”

“I don’t have a trauma. I can sleep normally I swear. I’ll be good at school.”

“Shhh. It’s not about that love. You need to work through so many things. And since Sherlock came back I’m sure that things have come back to you. We just want you to be able to be happy.”

 

 

*

“Olivia?”

 

“Hi. I need to talk to you. Is anyone around?”

 

“No, my parents are in the kitchen. What’s wrong?”

 

“Something happened at school. They almost expelled me. Now John wants to send me to a mental institution.”

 

“What?! John??”

 

“Yes. He says it’s for my own good. But I don’t want to. I can’t go. What if they want to keep me there?”

 

“You can’t let him do that to you.”

 

“Can I come to yours? I can climb up. Your parents don’t need to know.”

 

“Sure. Just wait a few hours until they’re asleep. I’m not going to let them do this to you.”

 

“Thank you.”


	4. Stabbed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,   
> We are skipping in time. Olivia is 18 years old here.  
> Enjoy!

18

 

~

Olivia awoke with a jolt. Confused for a moment, she sat up. Judging by the darkness it was not even close to dawn, but she heard hushed voices from the corridor. A small strip of light entered her room from the gap under the door. Making sure her pyjamas were in a proper position –they often shifted during the night because of her tossing and turning- she got out of bed and stepped into the corridor. The light, as well as the voices, were actually coming from the bathroom, which in between John and Mary’s bedroom and the staircase.

 

John sounded angry and worried.

 

“You’re lucky you didn’t get skewered.”

 

“I’m often lucky like that.” Sherlock hissed, obviously in pain but still managing to sound smug. Olivia was surprised to hear his voice. Sherlock didn’t come to their place that often, even though he and John had resumed their detective work.

 

“You won’t always be lucky. One day I’m going to find you murdered, or drowned, or crushed in one of those machines that crush cars, however the fuck they call them.”

 

Olivia crept closer and peeked around the doorframe. Sherlock was sitting on the closed toilet lid, leaning back with his head against the tiled wall. His trousers were on but his upper body was exposed. His shirt was a crumpled bloody mess on the floor. There was a long cut that ran from just under his ribs to the side down to his waist. John, sitting on his knees beside him, was working on stitching up the wound as they talked.

 

“Why would I be crushed in a car crushing machine?” Sherlock asked.

 

“Because you’re stupid and weird like that. When you die I don’t expect it to be a normal death. Deep breath.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath and held it while John punctured his skin without mercy. “I’ll make sure it’s spectacular”, he said as he breathed out.

 

“Keep breathing, don’t hold it. Are you seriously thinking I might enjoy your death? Oh, Sherlock’s dead but at least it was a good show, yay. You’re a moron.” John stopped and looked up at his friend, now completely serious. Sherlock seemed to slowly realise it really wasn’t funny.

 

“I-…”

 

 “Was it too much trouble to think about us, for once in your life?”

 

“I wasn’t… he needed to be stopped, John.”

 

“And we don’t need you?”

 

It was silent as their gazes met for a moment.

 

Sherlock was about to say something but his gaze shifted toward the door where Olivia was frozen on the spot, staring at his wound.

 

John turned.

 

“Shit. Sorry. Olivia, please go back to bed.”

 

“I told you it was better to do this in the kitchen.”

 

“Is… Is Sherlock…” Olivia tried.

 

“He’ll be ok. It’s just a cut.”

 

“He’s bleeding.”

 

“I know. It’s almost stopped. Just go back to bed love.”

 

Olivia shook her head. “Shouldn’t you take him to hospital for that?” she squeaked as a new trail of blood seeped out of Sherlock and John cursed.

 

“The moron doesn’t want to.”

 

“Why are you talking about me as if I’m not here?” Sherlock asked with a frown. “Olivia could you… could you get me a glass of water please? And some painkillers.”

 

“Make that a cup of tea with sugar. We’ll see about the painkillers.” John said.

 

As Olivia nodded and left, Sherlock closed his eyes again and let out a pained hum.

 

John fixed up his friend as much as he could and helped him clean up. Sherlock was forced to drink two cups of sugary tea and sent to bed. Olivia’s bed. At first John wouldn’t allow Olivia to give up her bed for him, because this was Sherlock’s own stupid fault and he would be fine on the sofa, but she insisted.

 

They made sure Sherlock was settled in in a way that prevented him from moving too much and Olivia made her bed on the sofa downstairs. Soon, the house had returned to quiet calmness and she fell asleep without noticing. A few hours later, as the first hint of daylight reached into the living room, Olivia woke with a start. She figured it must have been around 5 a.m. Remembering Sherlock’s blood from hours before, her heart sped up. He could have died, John had said. Was John checking on him? He’d been very cross with Sherlock. Would Sherlock even ask for help if he needed it?

 

These thoughts running around in her mind, she got out from underneath the covers. It was late summer but quite chilly in the morning, and she shivered in her cotton trousers and sleeveless top. She crept upstairs without a sound and entered her bedroom, which was no longer pitch black. For a while she watched his still form in the bed, and sighed in relief when she detected his chest move. Apparently this was enough to wake him, or he hadn’t been asleep to begin with. She could not see his face well in the not yet dusk, but the little light there was reflected in his eyes. For a moment he didn’t move and she was convinced he would tell her to go. The words “get out” sometimes still lingered in her mind, leaving her with a burning shame, even though that incident happened over a year ago. Even though they’d both apologized. Even though he came to visit her several times at the insitiute.

 

He didn’t say anything. He only moved his hand to fold back the duvet a little on her side. There was no expectation or even encouragement as such, just an invitation. Of course many warnings shot through her brain at that moment, but those were followed by reassuring thoughts, such as that in his current condition he wasn’t capable of anything physical, and that she wanted nothing more than to be close to him.

 

Carefully, she sat down on the bed and slipped underneath the covers. His eyes followed her movements, but he remained completely still, lying on his unharmed side, facing her. It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep.

 

 


	5. Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipping back in time again for a short snippet.

17

 

~

 

Rose’s house was far, and she took a long route, thinking that if anyone was looking for her they would be thrown off. She’d taken her winter coat, her backpack with some clothes, and all the cash she had. It almost gave her a déja-vu, but she pushed the thought away as soon as it arose.

Rose would help her. She would take cover for 24 hours in her bedroom and think about where to go next. Rose was intelligent and would study to become a detective. She would most certainly have suggestions to keep her our of an institution. Why had she ever accepted John and Mary’s adoption of her? She’d signed over her fate to them just like that. Because they’d showed her some kindness and stability. This was just a wake-up call that you shouldn’t rely too much on anyone. While she walked faster and faster, tears started rolling down her face thinking of how her ‘parents’ sent her away like that, just because she hadn’t turned out exactly the way they’d expected.

When she finally entered Rose’s street an hour and a half later, John was waiting for her under the lantern in front of the house. Olivia almost didn’t see him through her tears and cursed herself for being a failure runaway. She stopped halfway across the street from him.

For a moment she thought of sprinting off but knew that he’d be faster.

“Why are you here?”

He looked tired and worried, but not angry. The light of the street lamp form above made his face look older than usual. It took him a while to say anything.

“Did you doubt that I would follow you?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t know you knew I’d gone. Didn’t know whether you’d care.”

He grimaced and had to take a deep breath before replying. “Mary went to check on you and found your bed empty. We’ve been worried sick.”

He took a small step towards her.

“I called your school friends, hoping they would know where you had gone. Camilla said she had no idea, but that you had mentioned a friend of yours. One that was not at the same school and was in a wheelchair. I must admit I would not have thought of Rose if I had not already had a minor suspicion before.”

Olivia looked at the ground, tears welling up again.

“Since when have you been speaking to her?”

“Since I started school.”

“This year or last year?” he asked.

“Last”, she whispered, refusing to look up and witness the despair on his face.

“Every day?”

Olivia gave a nod.

“Love, from your reaction I get the feeling that you are aware that Rose isn’t there anymore. Is that correct?”

Another nod.

“But you speak to her.”

“We- we talk.”

“And you can see her?”

“I go and see her after school. We walk in the park.”

“And you talk.”

“She understands. She’s the only one who does!” Olivia finally looked up at him. He was much closer than before.

“What if that is only because she’s actually you?” he said gently.

“That means I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone. Not while I’m alive.”

“I miss her so much.”

“I know, and it’s horrible what happened to her. But pretending she’s still here won’t help in the long run.”

Olivia nodded.

“Can I give you a hug now?”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No.”

John took the final step forward and wrapped his arms around Olivia.

“Rose passed away almost two years ago, after being shot. She didn’t suffer. She was surrounded by friends and family. But she’s no longer here.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!


End file.
